West of Monarch Pass, Colorado

  Nobody said much on the rest of the way down the mountain. It took most of his concentration, and Dillon had no time to think about the loss of one of the racing crews. That is, until the grade evened out. Although it was still raining, without the steep downhill to worry about, it wasn't a big factor. They were only a few miles from Gunnison and the pit stop for this leg.

  Kayla hadn't said a word since the incident. He wondered if she was still pissed about him snapping at her. I need to apologize. Make her understand it wasn't her fault.

  The silence from her seat threatened to overwhelm him. Several times, he tried to say something, and he wasn't sure he knew the right words. Then the countryside opened up, and they could see the walls of the fortress town up ahead.

  Numerous drones were visible at different altitudes, all bearing logos of various news organizations. Heavily armed Gunnison Police Department vehicles were stationed along the freeway, providing an escort to the town.

  Dillon whistled softly, taking in the sight. He'd expected the media circus when they left Denver, still this was something else. The only people who visited this town were the rich and the famous, and this felt like the kind of welcome they would get.

  "I bet Sammy's kicking himself now for missing this," Kayla remarked.

  Unable to help himself, the young man laughed. "Sammy was regretting it when we pulled out of Denver this morning. This is just twisting the knife."

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. "We had nothing to do with his choice. I mean, neither Dad nor Eric talked to him after he walked out. The whole idea was to keep you together as a crew."

  He patted her hand. "I know. I've known him a long time, and Sammy's always been stubborn like gum on a sidewalk, and just about as annoying. I really thought I could change his mind, but… here we are." Looking back over his shoulder for a brief glance, he smiled. "You make a pretty good Sammy replacement, I think."

  She stuck out her tongue at him while they passed through the massive gate into the town proper.

  The police guided them to a hotel parking lot. Cleared of all vehicles, it was now a series of portable shelters, housing the repair gear and ordnance each sponsor provided. Kayla previously transmitted the diagnostic log to her team of techs, and when the doors opened, she was surrounded by ATSS personnel and whisked away.

  Dillon got out and stretched. No one greeted him or pestered him with questions, for which he was profoundly grateful. Still, the lack of activity at the lone empty shelter was jarring. In the arena, all the repair facilities were separated from each other. You didn't see or talk to your opponents there. Before the event, you were checking your car. After… well, the winner talked to the media, the survivors licked their wounds, and the dead were carted away.

  Several of the others were looking at the empty shelter also, and he could see their discomfort. They quickly found other things to do; all except the Angels. Gabe and Rafe weren't watching the empty shelter; they'd already cracked open cold cans of beer provided by their support team. They were talking animatedly with each other, with a laugh or shoulder punch thrown in.

  Shaking his head, Dillon turned to help the ATSS techs. The sooner they got repairs underway, the sooner he and Kayla could grab something to eat that wasn't a protein bar and water.

  ***

  Gunnison, Colorado

  There was time for a shower and change of clothes before dinner, and Dillon was surprised at the hotel room. Guess they don't have anything here less than four stars.

  More than just a room with a bed and a bathroom, it contained a sitting area, complete with a fifty-five-inch screen television. The balcony off the sitting area held two chairs and a low table and afforded a great view of the mountains. A duffel bag on the king-size bed held a change of clothes for tonight, a new jumpsuit for tomorrow, and his toiletries.

  Dinner that night was supplied by the AADA. To continue the low-bulk diet, the buffet contained several kinds of pasta in red and meat sauces, grilled fish, and baked apples with cinnamon. The only drinks provided were water, lemonade, and fruit juice, still nothing precluded the competitors from providing their own drinks.

  The dining room was only a quarter full when he arrived, and it seemed to be mostly the male competitors. It was just one large round table with eight settings. I don't know if that's better or worse. I guess having an empty place would be too much of a reminder.

  They'd been informed that interviews would take place after dinner, and several celebrities were on hand that were expected to 'entertain.' Dillon filled his plate, trying not to think about the interview portion of the evening, and started eating.

  Kayla and a few other women came in about twenty minutes later, talking quietly among themselves. They sat together at the table, continuing their low-voiced conversation. He tried again and again to catch her eye, without success.

  She's still pissed at me. And she's not the only one. Across the table, Gabe and Rafe stared at him in between bites. They said nothing to each other or the other teams and drank only water.

  "He don't like you one bit, son."

  Dillon turned at the voice. He hadn't realized that someone sat down next to him, and he realized it was Jesse from Quikshred. The lanky older man motioned at Gabe with his fork. "Keep your eye on him. We're supposed to be in this together until the end, but he won't pass up a chance to let fate take you out of this thing."

  "Um, yeah. I'd kinda figured that out, back there in the Springs. I don't know why, though."

  "Cause he's used to being the big man in the event. The one to beat. You're showing him up, pulling off the stuff that gets the footage."

  Dillon watched while the two Angels got up and left the dining room. The glower on Gabe's face tracked with what the older autoduellist was telling him, and he recognized that look. He'd seen it in the arena many times after a competition, when he'd beaten someone who thought they'd had the event in the bag.

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  He turned back to Jesse. "You’re not worried about me stealing the spotlight?"

  Chuckling, he swallowed and shook his head. "Son, when you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you learn to appreciate the quiet away from the media. It’s the same questions, over and over. You get so you can answer them in your sleep. It gets mighty tiresome."

  "I could do without the interviews right now." He sighed and started eating again.

  Again the dry chuckle, like gears grinding. "Yeah, I seen some of them. You’re as bad at that as you are good at driving."

  "Um, thanks?"

  "Look, son. If you plan to stay in this job as long or longer than your boss, quit worrying about the media. They play their own game, and they change the rules all the time. Be your own person instead of what they’re trying to make you become."

  After that sage advice, Dillon tried to linger at the dinner table as long as he could, sipping lemonade until his bladder could no longer be ignored. When he exited the bathroom, he saw the doors to the dining room were now closed. All that was left was the interviews in the lounge.

  ***

  Kayla left before Dillon, and she ran into Eric just outside the lounge. He stepped in beside her, his long legs easily matching her pace. She said in a low voice, "Please tell me you have something worked out."

  He nodded slightly, a smile fixed on his face. "I made sure Calen Martins was watching Dillon a lot. You know, the star of the old Highway Warrior series? He's already talking about all the vids where he's played an autoduellist out in the badlands and wants to meet our 'top notch driver.' I'll introduce the two of them and let nature take its course. Calen will bend Dillon’s ear for hours, and none of the reporters will be brave enough to interrupt."

  She patted his shoulder. "What would we do without you, Eric?"

  "Probably stumble along, bumping into walls and tripping over nothing. You do realize this plan means you'll have to shoulder the entire interview burden? Not just for the rally but for the company."

  "I know. I can handle it. As long as you keep them away from Dillon. I hate to isolate him like this…" her voice trailed off and she sighed.

  "Don't worry. Kid will probably be relieved he doesn't have to make a fool of himself yet again."

  ***

  Dillon stifled a yawn while Calen launched into yet another rambling monologue about some movie he'd been in. At first, the young driver was thrilled to meet an actor whose movies had inspired him to compete. The images of the weathered, hard-eyed highway battle trucker, or the cold, calculating arena battler were burned into his memory, and while he knew the realities of the arena now, they still lived on in his dreams.

  Of course, the star actor enjoyed access to the best Gold Cross services, so he looked Dillon’s age. The man had been in his business for over thirty years now, and the sheer number of memories sometimes made for disjointed stories that wound two or three roles together. Calen didn’t seem to notice, however. He’d jump from one memory to the other, with the occasional side commentary on his costars, directors, or moviemaking in general.

  Glancing around, the young man tried to catch a glimpse of Kayla or Eric. He'd seen her coming and going from various interviews, face bright with enthusiasm. I don't know where she's getting the energy to answer all those questions. I'm about ready to fall asleep on my feet. Better her than me.

  He felt a little ashamed of that last thought. They were a team. They should be doing these interviews together… and yet he felt only profound joy that he wasn't out there with her. Although the alternative isn't much better. At least here, all I have to do is nod and pretend like I'm paying attention.

  Finally, Eric came to his rescue. "My apologies, Mr. Martins. It's my job to make sure our competitors are well-rested for tomorrow, and I can't allow them to stay up until all hours."

  Smiling genially, the actor waved a hand at the apology. "No, no, you have your job. And young Dillon here has been a fantastic audience. I do hope you'll keep in mind some of the lessons I've tried to impart to you, young man."

  Standing and shaking Calen's hand, Dillon said, "They're ingrained in my mind, sir. Thanks for taking the time to pass them along."

  They walked away, the young man whispering, "I have no memory of anything he said."

  "Shame on you. That man is font of wisdom in the art of autoduelling."

  "I'll have to take your word for it. Where are we going?"

  They reached the elevators and Eric punched the button. "To bed. That part was true. You need your rest for tomorrow."

  The doors opened just then, and Dillon stepped in, asking, "What about Kayla?"

  "She's already gone to bed. Be very grateful in the morning, kid. She handled all those interviews without you and did it like a champ. We're going to have some major media attention on us for this next leg. Make sure you live up to it. Good night."

  Before he could ask what she'd said to the reporters, the doors closed in his face. The last thing he saw was Eric pointing at him and miming putting his head on a pillow.

  Turning the corner into his corridor, he saw Gabe standing at his door. Before he could react, the smaller man noticed him and headed in his direction. Mustering his courage, Dillon continued walking to his room.

  The Angels driver blocked his path, and Dillon stopped. Not wanting to provoke a confrontation, he looked at the other man. "Let me through, Gabe."

  "It's Gabriel to you, punk. You want to call me Gabe, you have to earn it."

  "Look, Gabriel, it's late and I'm tired. If–"

  The other man cut him off. "Pendejo, shut your mouth. If I want to hear anything out of you, I'll shake you like a magic eight ball."

  Careful not to roll his eyes, sigh, or do anything to set his adversary off, Dillon waited. After a few moments of eyeing him, Gabe continued. "You got lucky today, rookie. Don't think you're going to win this thing. Hell, you'll be lucky to survive it. That could have been you sliding off the mountain, just like any other jumped-up driver who thinks he’s a real competitor. You and that smug bitch who thinks she's a real gunner."

  His anger rising, Dillon leaned closer. "Say what you want about me but say another word about my teammate and I'll paint these walls with your blood."

  Smiling cruelly, Gabe nodded. "So, the puppy has teeth. And a crush on his backseater." He stepped back and spread his arms wide. "Bring it, novato. Show me tomorrow what you really got. Cause I've smoked dozens like you in the arena. You ain't shit, cachorrillo."

  Walking backwards away from Dillon, the other man yipped a few times like a beaten dog. Once he'd disappeared around the corner, Dillon sighed and continued to his room. The adrenaline drained after he’d changed for bed, and he fell into a deep sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

  ***

  Eric was sitting in the hotel bar, enjoying a whiskey after the evening's events. Given the media circus back in Denver, this was much less stressful. And the Green River stop will be even quieter. No room there for a media circus.

  Rebekah Walton took the barstool next to his, ordering a vodka tonic. She flashed him her patented smile, and he put his phone down with a sigh.

  "Here I was thinking we skipped the media circus, and the circus comes to town."

  She made a moue of distaste. "Why do you have to be like that, Eric? I haven't done anything to you."

  "True, you haven't said anything about me. Dillon? Yes. And when you take shots at our driver, I take it personally."

  A shocked look crossed her face, and she took a sip of her drink. "My, my. Aren't we possessive? So, it's you, then. You're the one who found Dillon and pushed him on your boss."

  Eric took a small swallow of the bourbon and swirled it about in his mouth. He counted to five before swallowing. "God, that's good stuff. And no comment about internal ATSS practices, Ms. Walton. Especially not to someone who'd use that to make allegations and insinuations."

  Rebekah turned to face him, her face all business now. "Careful, Eric. You don't want the media to view you in a bad light."

  "I don't think so, Rebekah. We're sitting in a bar, both having drinks. Anything we say can be chalked up to the alcohol. Besides, my opinion is worth diddly on the news. You need Basher's or the team's take to really have a story." He hoisted his glass in a mocking salute. "Thank God, you'll never get it."

  "I'll just keep digging, you know. I always get my story." That was said with a smug little smile, while she took a small sip of her drink.

  He drained the rest of the bourbon and stood up. "I tell you what. I'm going to give this to you for free. You want a real story? Ask yourself why the AADA is having this rally finish in the ass-end of nowhere, where there are no cameras save for what they bring in? Let me know if you find any answers, cause I've found dick all so far."